Chapter Eight #2
Dang, I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. Must’ve seemed as though I were prying.
But she made such a sorry face. And chose such dramatic words.
What was I supposed to do? Aah, I must be more careful about what she says and what she means.
Thank God she wasn’t offended. But, oh no!
I still have to do the devil’s dirty work and possibly ruin her day.
Between sips of her tall black, Timira is adding sticky notes to her planner. A meeting about her project is scheduled for later in the day.
‘Honey, you’ve got the minutes of every meeting so far, right? I read through the presentations you’d mailed me, but I was unable to find the minutes. Could you bring them to me, please?’
Hanee is on her way back with the printouts when she catches the back of oily Nick Carter’s hair heading into Timira’s cabin. She makes a dash for it, but only manages to catch his last few words as she bursts into the room.
‘… I’m told he’s good friends with one of our directors … Stephanie Jung. Have you met her yet?’ Timira stays silent.
I really couldn’t care less. He is friends with women all over the world. Why should I be surprised that he knows someone here, too?
Mr Choi rightly assumes Timira’s silence as a reply in the negative.
‘Ah, of course you haven’t. You haven’t been here long enough. She’s one of SecondSkin’s directors. I have said that already, haven’t I? She’s married into a jolbu family. Very smart lady. Used to be a famous model, then went into management studies.’
Timira has little to no interest in learning about Stephanie Jung and does nothing to hide her disinterest.
Mr Choi can sense Timira’s indifference and can’t seem to understand why the new recruit has such little interest in learning about people who matter at her new workplace.
‘She is very close to one of our biggest shareholders. So you can imagine how influential she is around here,’ he adds sheepishly.
Ah, no wonder he kept prattling on and on about her. How does Rod know beautiful, powerful women everywhere?! Was I the only non-starter on his roster? Is that why he cheated on me?
Timira can feel the anger start to stab at her chest and can only manage to smile half-heartedly.
‘Wait a minute, did you not work with Rodrigo at the same football club? Right, right, now that I recall. Ah, yes, of course! What were the odds! I’m sure you’ll agree with Ms Jung’s recommendation.
Wow, did you ever think you’d end up working with an old colleague here?
Daebak ! Are you friends with him? You really are the perfect person for the job! ’
Hanee clutches the sheaf of papers close to her chest and stiffens a little.
Well, at least I did not have to break the news. Is she going to break something? Should I drag Bujangnim away? Maybe it was a good thing I didn’t open my mouth … Hanee wonders as she observes Timira nervously.
Timira is now agitatedly clicking the butt of the ballpoint pen. Tucking a few loose strands of hair behind her ear, she looks up and flashes the most artificial smile Hanee has seen on her senior’s usually pleasant countenance.
‘Ah, splendid news! You’re right, Mr Choi, who’d have thought I’d run into him here? Geuremyo , I’m totally on board with the idea!’
‘ Yeoksi, this is going to work out great! I’ll leave you be now … you have a meeting with the design team later, right? I just wanted to step in and share the news of this development with you. I hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time, ye ?’
‘Of course not, Bujangnim! Thank you for looking out for me. I’ll see you later at the meeting?’
Mr Choi, after nodding his byes, turns to leave and nearly bumps into Hanee, who has to dive on to the sofa to avoid him on his way out.
‘Gwenchanayo? Are you hurt? When did you get here? Uwa !
You’re quiet like a cat. You could be a thief, Hanee- ssi !’
Hanee gives him a thumbs-up sign which seems to satisfy Mr Choi and he finally departs.
‘I never thought I’d say this, but GOD I HATE this NICK CARTER!’
‘Seonbae, are you all right? Can I get you some water?’
‘Some? SOME? The entire ocean won’t be enough for me to dive into and drown in. What sort of sodding luck does one need to have to deserve this?’
Hanee, who still doesn’t know the nature of Timira’s relationship with Rodrigo, is watching her crumple the coffee cup after abandoning the pen when its clicking butt-end got stuck after being repeatedly violated.
She makes a feeble attempt at intervening but can only manage a sound that is midway between a gurgle and a snort. This makes Timira laugh.
Chortling, she asks, ‘What was that? Was that a snort?’
Hanee looks embarrassed and mutters a few unintelligible sounds as a way of denial.
‘You know, this one time when I was a rookie television producer, I was interviewing a top film actor whom I also used to nurse a crush on. That impossible guy, uff , he cracked a really lame joke and over-enthusiastic me started to laugh. But what came out was a snort. And he called me a piglet on air. ON THE GODDAMNED AIR, can you imagine? Well, you can imagine what happened next, though. My jjagsarang died a sudden death and I became a viral meme!’
Hanee, still on the sofa, is staring at Timira with an incredulous look in her eyes.
That was not even a funny story. Why is she telling me she was a dwaeji meme in India? Otteoke? Otteokaji?!
‘Um, Seonbae, about earlier …’
‘ Wae? Mwo? Aaah, meolla meolla ! [Why? What? Aaah, I don’t know] We have work to do, don’t we? Chop chop! What are you doing on the sofa still? Up, up, ileona , Honey- ya !’
Holding her arms, Timira lifts Hanee off the sofa and gently squeezes her arm. Taking the papers that Hanee had been guarding until now, she walks back to her chair and plonks herself down. Hanee continues to stare blankly, questioning yet again (and, concerned about) her Seonbae’s mental health.
Still looking down at the papers, Timira smiles lightly.
‘I know. I know, Honey, I know. Don’t worry about it, okay? I know you must’ve tried telling me, but Bujangnim beat you to it. Don’t beat yourself over it, arasseo ?’
Feeling guilty, Hanee curls her toes and turns her gaze towards them. She’s also curious about something.
‘Seonbae, how do you know so many Korean words?’
‘What?’ Timira is taken aback by the randomness of Hanee’s question.
‘I’ve been curious … you use Korean words every now and again. And all at the right places. I was wondering how. Did you learn before coming here?’
Feeling rather chuffed and thankful to Hanee for changing the topic, Timira smiles.
‘My best friend’s wife … well, she is also my best friend now …
is Korean. Korean-American. She’s made me watch a lot of dramas and listen to a bunch of K-pop artistes.
I’m good with languages. Just picked up words and phrases here and there! ’
‘Oh, you have a Korean chingu ! Daebak!’
Timira smiles widely. ‘Yes. Daebak, indeed!’
‘It’s nice to see you smile, Seonbae. I’m sorry about earlier …’
‘What for? Why are you sorry, dear Honey? It’s no big deal. It’s not like they’ve signed him up yet. And, so what if they do? I just have to tolerate his cheating ass for three months.’
This is news to Hanee. Lifting an eyebrow and fixing her gaze back on Timira’s face, she waits for more. But nothing comes out of Timira’s mouth.
‘Seonbae, are you really all right? Can I get you …’ But she’s been cut in.
‘Honestly, though, it’s not like the first time in history two exes will be working together. Who cares about him? I’m like Bridget Jones—busy and important. Huh. Honey, why are you still standing there? Come sit. Let’s go over these points, quickly!’
But Hanee can only gape in astonishment.
Timira Seonbae and Rodrigo the famous footballer used to be lovers!
* * *
KATSUYAMA, JAPAN, 2000
‘I’m open. Dai! I’m open, bro. Pass the ball! PAAAASSSS!’
A lanky boy of about sixteen, sweating profusely, is dashing down the pitch, his blonde locks flying in the gentle summer breeze, and yelling at the top of his voice.
Waving his tan, sinewy arms in the air, he tries to attract the attention of his teammate in the right wing who has dodged a couple of defenders to reach the D but has now found himself surrounded by three more, with a very narrow angle to aim for the goal.
With a prayer on his lips, he sends the ball across with a cheeky no-look pass to the lanky boy who has positioned himself nicely inside the 20-yard box for a shot at the goal.
The ball still in the air, he leaps off the ground.
His body parallel to the ground, he takes a half-bicycle shot with his right foot, the stronger of his two.
The commentator leaps up inside his box and excitedly mentions a fox in the box.
The partisan crowd that had filled the stadium with its lusty cheers on sniffing a win suddenly goes quiet.
The shot has been saved. The goalkeeper and shot-taker are both on the ground—one clutching the ball close to himself like it were a newborn, the other holding his head and crying in disbelief.
Jerseys drenched in sweat are strewn across the floor of the dressing room. Water is being splashed across faces and over heads. Hoarse voices that reek of puberty are attempting to speak in hushed tones but they are way too agitated to be able to keep it down … until the assistant coach walks in.
‘Boys, don’t bother showering. Kit up and come on out. Coach wants to train. Hayaku !’
Crying out in frustration, this time the boys don’t bother with their tone.
They grumble, and they make their annoyance heard.
But the coach ignores them, like coaches do, and leaves.
Like an enraged mob, the group of tired, hungry, sweaty boys quickly finds someone to pin the blame for their misfortunes on.
‘Why must we go back out in the heat only because Kenji missed the shot?’ a voice demands to know, echoing the thoughts of everybody in the room.